


Case M7-013: Agent's Report

by youllalwaysfitinwithme



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 17:21:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13058604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youllalwaysfitinwithme/pseuds/youllalwaysfitinwithme
Summary: "The bureau was asking him to sign his name in that report and forget about the case. They were asking him to confirm that those pages contained the whole extent of what happened while they worked on Case M7-013, and Enjolras truly wished that report had been the whole truth. It would be so much easier, to move on from it that way. If there hadn't been secret meetings, if they hadn't shared a bond beyond that of their skin... if there hadn't been love, nor lies, nor betrayals."





	Case M7-013: Agent's Report

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mardisoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardisoir/gifts).



> Hi!!!  
> This story is a gift for user mardisoir as part of the Les Miserables Winter Holiday Exchange.  
> Of all of the requests you sent, this one stood out to me, because it is a rare pairing in this fandom, and because they have so much potential. I loved writing this and I was hoping to fill the other requests, but I didn't have the time, between trips and studies. So I hope you like this one!!  
> Have a very Merry Christmas!!  
> 

This is a recount of the events that took place during the investigation and intervention of criminal organisation "Patron-Minette". 

Reporting agent: É. Enjolras. 

 

_To commence this report, I find it of utmost importance to recount the way in which Agent L. Montparnasse got assigned to our case. On the night of December 22nd, the team working under my command was compromised when one of the suspects -J. Babet- unexpectedly engaged with Agent A. Courfeyrac, making an attempt on his life and forcing the rest of the team to intervene. After months of espionage, we hadn't gathered enough proof to link the organisation's activities to that of the opposing party, which was -and continues to be- suspect of manipulation and fraud. Due to the compromise of our identities, and our insistance that the Bureau continues this line of investigation, a new agent was put on the case..._

 

"Perfect, we got ourselves an asshole instead of a spy."

"Grantaire..." Enjolras warned, giving him a look which the other man was so used to at that point, that it had no real effect on his attitude. Bahorel shifted in his chair, silently offering support to Grantaire's rant with a loud sigh.

"He's got a point" Courfeyrac chimed in, "what kind of asshole arrives one hour late to a meeting?" 

His shoulder was still healing, so Enjolras admonished him with a look when he noticed his arm out of the brace. Just like it had happened with Grantaire, it had no effect whatsoever. When had he lost his authority? When had these men stopped shaking under his glares? They had been a team for almost two years, and they had respected him so much at the beginning... Not that they disrespected him now, but they no longer regarded him as their chief. They had got too close for that. The bond they shared now was not only built upon countless hours working together, but also on even-numbered nights going on completely different missions -the kind that 24 year olds were suppose to have.

"The kind of asshole who will help us put an end to this case" he reminded his friends. "Let's just be polite when he decides to show up, alright?"

"If he ever does..." Grantaire murmured.

"And I'm specifically asking you, Grantaire" Enjolras said. "It took a lot of convincing for Thénardier to not give up on this. She knows this could be huge if we get it right. She promised to bring in a top agent, so let's not ruin it in our first meeting."

"A top latecomer, you mean" Grantaire murmured again. But the door opened, and Enjolras only had time to give him one last glare of warning before the agent assigned to the case walked in. 

"What are you doing here?" Enjolras said immediately, confused at the sight of Lucien Montparnasse in their office. 

"You must be lost" Grantaire said, "The no scruples department is in the east wing."

Courfeyrac and Bahorel stared silently as the man smirked and approached the table. They were just as perplexed as Enjolras.

"I believe we had a meeting planned. What did I miss?"

"There must be a mistake" Enjolras stood up. 

Montparnasse seemed amused by the situation. He held a file in the air before dramatically throwing it across the table.

"There is no mistake. Unless you are  _not_ the bunch that almost ruined case M7-013." 

The room remained silent as Bahorel went through Montparnasse's file. The newcomer took a seat on the chair farthest from the rest. Once Bahorel nodded, confirming that he was indeed the newly assigned agent, the whole team stared in disbelief as Montparnasse fiddled with his cufflinks.

Enjolras regarded him. He had a hard time accepting that they would be working together. The man had been in the room for just a few minutes, but it already felt odd to count him among them. Montparnasse was the kind of pretentious agent who put on a two-piece even though it was completely unnecessary. There was an innate elegance in everything he did, from the way he walked to the way he fought. Enjolras had always thought it annoying. But it wasn't his elegance what deeply upset him about the man. Montparnasse was better known for other... assets. His cases were notoriously admired for his unceremonial methods. In the short time he had been a part of the Bureau, all kind of rumours had spread about him and his cases: he was ruthless, had no scruples, it had been an accident, a casualty... Enjolras (and the rest of the agency, for that matter) was well aware of what he really was: a hitman hidden under the cover of a spy. An assassin with a perfectly legal contract that shielded him from facing any consequences for his actions. He was completely out of place in their team.

"Why would they send you?" Enjolras asked at last. 

Montparnasse stared intently at the man when he said "Because you fucked up and I'm one of the best. I can think of one more reason, but I'll give you the opportunity to guess."

Enjolras was confused for a moment, just as the rest of his team. And then it occurred to him.

"They want to use us."

 

 

_The selection of Agent L. Montparnasse to work on our case had been anything but casual. The Bureau was well aware of our connection and intended to use it to directly infiltrate in the ranks of Patron-Minette..._

 

Enjolras hadn't known as a child, but there was an explanation for all of the random bruises that appeared in places he hadn't been hurt, and for the colors that stained his fingers on days he hadn't even held a marker. His parents had tried to explain him once, but it had sounded like a bedtime story. They said some people were born with a special bond with another person. This connection could take any form, from seeing flashes of each other's life, to hearing their thoughts, or feeling what the other felt. They had called it a soulmate. He hadn't liked the word, so he pushed it to the back of his mind, where it eventually became a myth.

The first time he actually realised he was connected to someone, was when a tattoo appeared on his shoulder at the age of sixteen. A permanent one. He had panicked badly when he noticed the small angel on his skin, its little smile mocking him as its hands held a bow and arrow, ready to shoot. He had tried washing it off, but neither the water, nor the alcohol, nor his mother's polish remover made it go away. He had rubbed his shoulder until his skin was red and sore. He had accepted in the end that it was no use, and got used to the ink with time. 

A man with the moon as a head followed the angel. It was then when it occurred to Enjolras that, if they shared a skin, maybe they would be able to communicate. He didn't want anything to do with this person, had no interest in meeting them or finding out if they had something else in common, apart from their skin. No, Enjolras didn't believe in soulmates and the existence of a perfect match, he just needed to tell the other person to stop getting tattoos. It was a reasonable request. 

"Hello?" he wrote on the back of his hand. It took almost an hour for the other person to notice, or to decide to reply. When they did, a neatly written message appeared on Enjolras' forearm.

"What the hell?" 

"Same, honestly."

"Soulmate?" 

"We have a bond" Enjolras explained, exasperated that the other person hadn't even noticed yet.

"Like soulmates?" they insisted.

"Soulmates don't exist" Enjolras wrote. "We're just linked."

"Whatever you say. It's pretty cool."

"No, it's not."

"Then why interact?"

"I need you to stop getting tattoos. I have your tattos. I hate tattoos."

"I hate people who hate tattoos."

"See? Not soulmates." 

Enjolras thought that was the end of it, but later that night, he found a new message in his arm.

"What's your name?" they asked.

"Why?" he replied.

"Strange name. Mine's Lucien."

"Édouard."

"Tell me, Édouard, how did we get the scar on our hand?"

"I was peeling potatoes."

"I'll take care of the kitchen, then."

"What?"

"When we get together."

"We're not soulmates. Stop that."

"Night, Éd."

Enjolras stared at his arm where he had written his name. His writing was really nice. His name looked pretty good. He went to the bathroom and washed the ink away. Lucien was just a stranger. An annoying one at that. They were not soulmates.

 

A week later, a pair of dices appeared on his ribs.

"STOP" Enjolras wrote.

"Make me" he replied.

 

A month later, it was a knife under the dices.

"A knife? Really?" Enjolras wrote. He got no answer. "Psycho." 

 

They didn't interact much, apart from the times in which a random tattoo appeared on Enjolras' body and he complained to Lucien about it. But his complaints only seemed to encourage the other, who, instead of writing back, simply got new tattoos. There were more: a rose, some numbers, and then a text in Latin. 

"I'll sue you. Stop it" Enjolras wrote.

"You don't know who I am" he replied.

"I'll get them removed."

"Then I'll do them again."

"Fuck you."

"Someday, I hope."

By age eighteen, Enjolras' chest and arms were covered in tattoos that he hadn't chosen for himself, that he despised. In addition, he began to despise the person on the other end, to the point that, whenever Lucien wrote something, he just washed it away, not bothering to give him a response. Enjolras was sick of the situation, of their connection. He felt like his skin didn't belong to him, like it was a canvas for asshole Lucien to keep messing with. And it wasn't just the tattoos. As they grew older, bruises and scars began to appear as well. 

"I'd hate to see the other guy" Enjolras had written after he woke up with a bruised eye at age 22. He had the final tests with the Bureau that day. He would have to use make-up again.

"Wasn't my fault this time" Lucien wrote. It left Enjolras thinking. Why did Lucien's life seem to be so problematic? What was going on with him? He had already assumed that the guy was a troublemaker, but what if there was something else? What if he got that bruise from defending himself? Why did he care?

"Next time wear a helmet or something. Or even better, don't get into fights at all."

"I've got bills to pay."

"Are you a boxer?"

"You don't want to know."

 

A few weeks after that, Enjolras began to work for the Bureau. 

 

 

_As with every other candidate, one of the first things that the Bureau asked me during the interview was if I had a connection with someone. It was a preventive measure, of course, in case an outsider could hear or see what I heard or saw. It was routine, so I told them about Lucien Montparnasse and our skin connection. They seemed interested, and they recruited me. I had been working with them for something more than a year when they recruited Agent L. Montparnasse as well._

 

"Édouard Enjolras" a voice called to him. Enjolras lifted his eyes from the file he was reading to find green eyes and a smug smile. He had never seen the man, but from his presence on the building, he assumed he was a new recruit. 

"Do I know you?" Enjolras said. It was odd, to hear his name among those walls. In the Bureau, they went by their last names. Only his boss and those who worked with him knew what the  _É_ before Enjolras stood for.

"Not really. But now you do," the man approached the table and offered his hand "Agent Montparnasse." Enjolras shook his hand, "But you can call me Lucien."

 

 

_The Bureau had wanted us to work together from the beginning, but I refused. My superiors were less than pleased by my decision, but they didn't persist. And then our failure in Case M7-013 gave them the opportunity to put us together._

_In this occasion, I couldn't refuse._

 

Enjolras couldn't believe how easily Montparnasse had infiltrated the ranks of Patron-Minette. It was unnerving, his capacity to mingle with criminals. It only made Enjolras question. How had it been so easy? Why did he seem a natural? Was he a natural? 

At the same time, it was exasperating. Everyday, Enjolras had to see how a guy he despised did his job for him. On top of that, Montparnasse didn't miss an opportunity to remind Enjolras how indispensable he was, or how inevitable it was that they formed the perfect team. And Enjolras couldn't actually deny the truth in those statements. 

Since his addition to the case, important information had flooded through their office door, so much so that the Bureau decided to shift the aim of their work. Their initial target had been to connect Patron-Minette's activities to the opposing party's upheave -there were people being threatened, money laundering and even sabotages towards the government involved. But Patron-Minette had turned out to be bigger than they expected, and so the case had balanced towards breaking up the organization from the inside. 

It was far more dangerous and time consuming than Montparnasse had initially bargained for, so Enjolras offered him the opportunity to get out.

"You can't wait to get rid of me, can you?" the man asked, shaking his head in disapproval, "I'm not letting this go. We have them. I'll just have to move up faster in their ranks, but I can do it."

"I'm not saying you can't" Enjolras said, pressing the bridge of his nose, "I'm just saying this will be more dangerous than we expected, so I'm showing you a way out."

Enjolras dropped in a chair, defeated. It had been a long night of recounting information. They were in a hotel, since their flats weren't safe places to meet as long as they were on the case. It wouldn't help Montparnasse's cover if Patron-Minette discovered he had been meeting with an agent who they knew was onto them. Montparnasse sat on the table in front of Enjolras and grinned.

"That's cute."

"What?" Enjolras asked. Montparnasse tilted his head, making a strand of dark hair fall over his eyes.

"That you think I would take a way out the moment it gets dangerous. That you're worried about me." 

Enjolras blushed under his gaze, but his expression remained firm. "You were right, I can't wait to get rid of you."

He stood up and began putting papers and pictures in folds. At all times, he felt Montparnasse's eyes on him, watching his every move. It was an annoying habit of his, to observe him silently, analysing him as if he were a lab rat, as if he was expecting for something to happen. Whenever Enjolras asked him what the matter was, he just brushed it off with a remark about him being too rigid, or predictable, or anything mildly insulting. So he didn't ask this time. Enjolras put the folders in his bag and grabbed the coat that was lying on the bed.

"Leaving so soon?" Montparnasse asked.

"We're finished here, aren't we?"

"We could stay. It's a shame that we never get to drink the free champagne."

"I'm not drinking champagne with you" Enjolras said, chuckling.

"Afraid of some bubbles?" Montparnasse teased, grabbing the bottle and proceeding to open it. "Or of me?"

"Why would I be afraid of you?"

"Stay and prove me wrong, then."

Enjolras sighed, "We're supposed to be working, not getting drunk."

"I thought we were finished here" he reminded him, taking a sip from the bottle. 

"We are. Goodbye Montparnasse." 

Enjolras threw the bag over his shoulder and made his way to the door. "You can't run from this forever," he heard Montparnasse say. That made him stop and turn to stare at the other man. 

"From what?"

"Us."

Enjolras gave him a skeptical look, "There's no us."

"We literally share a bond. I would dare to say that that definitely makes us an  _us_."

"I don't believe in soulmates" 

Montparnasse chuckled, he had heard that statement a hundred times.

"Then let me ask you again: why are you so afraid of me?" Enjolras rolled his eyes, but before he could speak a word, Montparnasse went on, "You always spend time with the others, but when we are left alone, there's always somewhere else you need to be. Just admit it. That you're afraid of getting to know me because you refuse to not have a say in something. Because, deep down, you're afraid to find out if the stories are true and we are really meant to be."

Enjolras couldn't believe they were having that conversation. Had he not made himself clear over the course of the years? How else could he spell it out for Montparnasse to understand that he had no interest in any connection other than that of their skin? 

"And why are you so intent on making this happen?" Enjolras asked. "You barely know me. Why are you so desperate for this soulmate thing to be true?"

Montparnasse drank a long gulp of champagne as he glared at the other man. Enjolras saw a change in him, when he jumped from the table and approached his spot. The smoothness of his steps were replaced by something stronger, ruder. It reminded Enjolras of the way caged animals paced when they were being watched. And there was definitely something animalistic in his eyes when he stood only a few steps from him, so close that Enjolras could smell the champagne in his breath as he spoke.

"Because it's just stupid to know there's something out there, meant just for me, and ignore it. I can't do that. I have never been able to ignore it." Montparnasse's eyes scanned Enjolras. He felt overwhelmed by the sincerity of the other, his proximity, his eyes set on his. Enjolras had to take a step back, but Montparnasse followed suit. "Since the moment I saw you, I have felt something calling to me. In you. And by the look on your face, I'd say there's something in me calling to you right now. Stop ignoring it. Stop ignoring me."

Enjolras felt it. Right there, at the tip of his fingers. 

It was a tingling sensation, and it was making him want to extend his hand and touch him. His fingers were aching to close the distance. Enjolras pursed his lips when he felt it there too, in his mouth. Montparnasse had said there was something calling to him, but to Enjolras, it felt more like pulling. He felt pulled towards the man, even though there were no hands making him move. It felt like they had fallen into the other's gravity. 

Enjolras panicked, closed his eyes and turned to leave. 

But he had felt it. And from that day, he was unable to ignore whatever that was anymore.

 

 

 

_The connection shared between Agent L. Montparnasse and I proved most useful during his infiltration. He could safely  report to us daily without the need of sudden exits or suspicious phone calls. We could go for weeks without the need to check on his state, because as long as my skin didn't show signs of violence, we knew he was well and everything was going smoothly. Everything went as planned._

 

 

"Don't report it" Enjolras read in his arm, where a long scar stretched from his elbow til it almost reached his wrist. He ran towards the nearest mirror and checked his face and back for any other signs of injury. There was nothing important, just slight bruises here and there. Montparnasse had undoubtedly been involved in a fight. And he didn't want the Bureau to know.

"La Porte Dorée. 640" he wrote under the other's message. He waited for Montparnasse's confirmation and proceeded to get dressed. 

La Porte Dorée was a hotel in the outskirts of Paris in which they had never met before. Despite the scant frequency of their meetings lately, they were still careful to choose different places every time. Enjolras paced the room nervously as he waited for Montparnasse. If he was going to hide something from his superiors, he needed to know why, and most importantly, how it had come to happen. He discarded the possibility of his cover being blown, mainly because if that had happened, Montparnasse would be dead by now, instead of just beaten up. 

 _Just beaten up._  

Enjolras couldn't help an ironic laugh at that thought. How had his life gone from panicking over a tattoo to normalising beatings? And how did Montparnasse manage to be the most frequent source of his panicking? Enjolras was exasperated. And worried. What kind of a fight might have been? An unfair one, most likely. A gang beating. There was no better explanation for one of the best agents in the Bureau to get all bruised like that. But how had he ended up in that situation? And why was he so worried about it? 

The door opened, and an apparently unscathed Montparnasse walked in. But Enjolras knew better.

"What the hell happened to you?" Enjolras asked as soon as the door was safely closed. Montparnasse sighed. He looked suddenly tired as he walked towards the bed and took off his jacket. 

"Nothing happened to me" Montparnasse said, "I happened to someone."

"Doesn't look like it" Enjolras replied, approaching the man and holding his arm out, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow. Montparnasse stared at the arm stretched out to him. His hand reached for it and brought it closer to his face, as if he was examining the scar on Enjolras' skin. 

"I always wondered what they looked like on you."

"I hope that's not the full explanation for the damn scar on my arm" Enjolras said, annoyed. He retrieved his arm and felt his skin cold, the ghost of Montparnasse's fingers lingering on him. 

"I wasn't talking about that" Montparnasse replied, "I meant the tattoos. I always wondered how they would look on you."

Enjolras was taken aback. There were no words at the tip of his tongue anymore, ready to battle the other man. One unexpected line from him and he lost all trail of thought, his arguments vanished. The things he had wanted to say or know were just not there anymore. What kind of power was that, and how had Montparnasse used it on him?

"They look awful" he managed to say, although he didn't sound convincing, "I hate tattoos."

"Yeah, I think you mentioned that" Montparnasse smiled, nodding slowly. 

What an asshole. What a charming asshole. Enjolras was mesmerized at the sight. He felt that pull again. He stepped away. 

"Why not report it?" Enjolras asked, trying to find a way back to the matter that had brought them there. Montparnasse looked him in the eye defiantly.

"I was running an errand I shouldn't have ran. Wouldn't like Thénardier to hear about it and leave me out. Not now."

"You're doing their job for them?"

"I'm playing the part."

"You're overstepping your duties, Montparnasse. Your job is to get information, not get your hands dirty."

"And how do you think I've been getting that information? By bringing them coffee?" Montparnasse chuckled at the lack of a response. "Thénardier knows how I work. I haven't heard her complain about it so far."

"Then, why don't you want her to know about this?"

"I'm not supposed to get hurt. If she knew, she'd pull me out."

"And what makes you think I won't do that myself?" Enjolras was exasperated. Not only had Montparnasse been doing who knows what illegal crap behind his back, but on top of it, he asked him to turn a blind eye on the whole thing so he could farther put himself at risk. What the hell was going on in his head? Did he really think Enjolras cared so little that he would just let it be?

"The case is not finished. We need evidence to put these guys away for good. With what we have so far, it's not enough for a sentence without bail. And you know as well as I, that they will pay the bail and just disappear." 

Montparnasse was right, that's why Enjolras pursed his lips and looked away as his voice went on: "You don't want this case ruined. That's the reason you won't report me." Enjolras felt a hand on his shoulder. He stared at Montparnasse in confusion. "It's almost over" he said, "let me finish it and make them pay."

Enjolras considered the possibility as he scanned Montparnasse's expression in search of any sign of hidden fear. But there wasn't a trace of it. He seemed relentless in his quest, determined, but not even slightly afraid or shaken by the dangers that came along. Not like he was. His eyes wandered toward the arm strechted to him, hand gently squeezing his shoulder. He sighed when he realised he had already made up his mind. Even before Montparnasse convinced him. Enjolras had never failed in a case, and that wouldn't be the first. Even if it meant putting the man in front of him in danger.

"Another beating like this and you're out" Enjolras sentenced. A satisfied smile spread over Montparnasse's lips as he squeezed his shoulder more firmly.

"I won't give them the chance."

They settled on the bed and took the opportunity to gather more precise information than could be written on skin. More than an hour went by. The sun was about to set, the room bathed in orange sunlight. They were in the middle of something when Montparnasse said:

"Can I see the rest?"

"The rest what?"

"Your tattoos" he explained. Enjolras was confused at the sudden shift of conversation, but for some reason, he didn't found himself bothered by the request.

"Why? They're the same as yours."

"I won't know until I see them, won't I?" Enjolras rolled his eyes, just as he rolled the sleeves of his shirt to let him see.

Montparnasse examined every inch of skin as if it was uncharted land he had just discovered. And while his eyes were busy on Enjolras' tattoos, Enjolras' own eyes were busy on Montparnasse. 

How did he do that? How had the arrogant agent suddenly vanished to let out someone so... unexpected? When he had previously been annoying and teasing, Enjolras now found humour and wit in him. His words weren't irritating anymore, but rather charming. Enjolras felt really flustered; had been feeling that way for a while, whenever the man crossed his mind. It was as if, since that day he had felt the pull, Enjolras couldn't help but see what he had been so intent on not seeing. What, -as Montparnasse himself had put it- he was so afraid to find.

Enjolras felt a chill running through his body when Montparnasse lined one of the tattoos with his fingers. Montparnasse noticed his sudden stillness, but he didn't stop. He traced one tattoo after the other, calmly, pensive; lost either in far away thoughts or Enjolras' skin. 

Enjolras kept it at bay for a while, but then a pull sent his hands towards Montparnasse's, and when he found green eyes staring right back, he reached for his lips and closed the distance. 

It didn't quite feel like an out-of-the-blue pull this time; more like want or craving. More like an instinct.

Their lips moved frantically despite the gentleness of their touch. Enjolras almost felt disappointed that kissing Montparnasse didn't shake his world, nor made his head spin or their connection to suddenly make sense. But it felt right; that moment. It felt good. Better than good. Why had he been so damn afraid of that? Right there, with their lips meeting and their breaths mingling, Enjolras couldn't think of a single reason to not let himself get carried away.

Surprisingly, it was Montparnasse who seemed to be more restrained. He placed a hand on Enjolras' shoulder and slightly pushed away. "Woah. If you keep doing that, I might just begin to think you mean it."

Enjolras stared astonished, breath uneven, at Montparnasse. His hair perfectly in place, eyes staring back seriously. The only hint of disarray, his slightly rosier and wet lips. It suited him, somehow. At least to his eyes, that could see nothing else at the moment. There was only him, and Enjolras caught himself thinking that it was enough. 

He leaned to meet his mouth again, and this time, Montparnasse let go of his restraints. The kisses became rushed and shorter, their mouths finding new spots to taste as their clothes fell to the floor. For a moment, Enjolras got sight of Montparnasse's chest, which was covered in the same tattoos he'd been carrying for so long. On him, they made sense. On him, they didn't look so bad. Watching them along his arms and back, Enjolras recognised a part of himself on the other man. 

Maybe it was that, what had got Montparnasse so mesmerised earlier. Maybe he had recognised himself in him too. Maybe that's what he had been looking for all along.

 

Later, as he laid on the bed curled up to the other man, unable to sleep, it occurred to Enjolras that he might have underestimated his feelings for Montparnasse. 

 

 

 

_Agent L. Montparnasse's life was never in danger. He was safely undercover for months, until we gathered all the evidence necessary to dismantle Patron-Minette and condemn them to a lifetime in prison. We were planning the ultimate details of their arrest, when we got word of the massacre._

 

A few weeks after their meeting at La Porte Dorée, a body appeared  floating in the Seine. Homicide was not Enjolras' field, nor that of the bureau, but he couldn't ignore the timing of the murder that the police had made public that morning: the body must have been dead for at least two weeks. Some thoughts crossed his head as he listened to the reporter. But that wasn't what really bothered Enjolras' at the back of his mind -the timing of the murder, nor the coincidence of Montparnasse's injuries happening around the same time. What bothered him was the fact that said body belonged to a member of Patron-Minette.

"Tell me you had nothing to do with that" he said when they met again.

"I had nothing to do with that" Montparnasse said, face blank of any emotion. Enjolras sighed. He hadn't needed to ask; he knew exactly what Enjolras was talking about. That, added to his blank expression, gave away more than his response.

The level of understanding they had reached sometimes took Enjolras by surprise. Just like Montparnasse. He too, more often than not, took Enjolras by surprise. There seemed to be no end to him. Everytime Enjolras believed he had the man figured out, he proved him wrong by doing or saying something that gave him a new shape in his eyes. Sometimes it was an unexpected caress of apology after an argument. Other times, an anecdote from the past that bordered on fiction but was too detailed to be so. This time, a dead body abandoned on a river with no explanation whatsoever. 

Enjolras wondered if this new side of him had always been there, or it was a natural consequence of spending so much time among criminals. He didn't know which option was worse. And it was in moments like this, when something happened to him (because something must've happened to get blood on his hands), that Enjolras felt anxious with worry. He couldn't see the moment in which the case would be over, so Montparnasse would finally be safe. Safe and away from that brand new found part that Enjolras felt so uncomfortable noticing.

"Tell me what happened. Be honest."

Montparnasse reached for his hand, Enjolras just let him take it. 

"I can't really be honest right now. You'll report me and I'll be out. I will finish this case first, then we'll see where we land."

Enjolras didn't insist, they had already been there, had that conversation that eventually came down to the importance of the case.

"Tell me you're not in danger. I need to know at least that if I'm covering for you." 

Montparnasse shook his head slightly, a comforting smile on his lips. "I'm not." His face hovered over Enjolras' for a moment, and then he kissed him. 

Enjolras had yet to learn how to pretend he believed his words. Montparnasse had given him a kiss and a lie to ease his mind, but Enjolras could find comfort in neither of them.

 

 

After that, Enjolras hid Montparnasse's injuries from their superiors more times than he could count. At least once a week, he would get new bruises, sometimes even scars. Whenever they met, he would brush it off and set the matter aside, saying how he could handle it, how everything was turning in their favor. And Enjolras believed him. Time and time again. Because he needed to put an end on the case. Because he needed to believe that Montparnasse was actually fine with all of it. 

When the realization struck that he wasn't, it was too late.

 

 

He was on his way to meet Courfeyrac when he noticed a mark on his hand. Getting a closer look, Enjolras noticed it was rosy and there was a spot in which the skin of his wrist seem melted. He wrote a text to let Courfeyrac know he wouldn't make it. He then picked up the pen from his pocket and wrote on his arm "Where?" 

 _W_ _here do we meet?_ , it meant. They had done that a thousand times, there was no need to waste words. 

"Your house" Enjolras read on his arm. He refrained from writing an explanation on why that was a stupid idea and just rushed to the place. He would worry about secrecy later, once he had got to check on Montparnasse and his head stopped jumping to conclusions.

 

Montparnasse was already in his house when he got there. For the first time since he'd met him, Enjolras found his aspect somewhat unkempt. His hair was slightly shaggy and he wasn't wearing his usual suit. In fact, Enjolras recognised the shirt he had on.

"What happened to you? And why are you wearing my clothes?"

"I've messed up" Montparnasse said as he crossed the living room to stand face to face to Enjolras, "and I need your help."

"What is it?" Enjolras placed a hand on the side of his neck in an attempt to comfort him. He had never seem Montparnasse so worried; it only added to his own anxiety. "Are you alright?"

"They discovered me" he said, frowning, shaking his head as if he still didn't believe it himself, as if he was in a sort of shock. Montparnasse held Enjolras' gaze for a long moment, silently, and then he looked away and began pacing the room nervously, the words dropping from his mouth incoherently. "I had to do something. Enjolras, it was them or me. I had to choose. And I know I messed up but it was the only way."

"Montparnasse, calm down" Enjolras asked, standing by the door, trying to put his words together, trying to find the meaning of what Montparnasse had said. "What did you do?"

"I killed them" Montparnasse said, finally slowing his pacing until he was standing on the other side of the room. "Burned the whole warehouse with them inside."

It took a moment for Enjolras to process the words. But once he did, once he understood, he felt lost, both confused and angry at the same time as Montparnasse took a brand new shape right before his eyes. "What!? Your job was to spy on them, not getting them killed! What were you thinking?"

"I told you," Montparnasse said, eyes averting to the carpet between them, "they knew I was a spy. They had learned about you and the team, and they wanted to end us all. I barely got away, they were trying to kill me." There was a pause, but neither of them moved. Montparnasse looked at him as if expecting something. Enjolras felt like he should go and try to offer some comfort to the man, but the rage over his actions was stronger, it kept him glued on his spot. After a moment of silently staring, Montparnasse went on, "I knew that was the end of it all... and I couldn't let them go free after all these months. I had to do something. So I locked them inside and started the fire. It was the only way. And now the case is over. Patron-Minette is over."

"That wasn't the way..." Enjolras spoke in a voice so low, the other man could barely him from the other side of the room, "that's murder, Montparnasse. A massacre."

"Don't you think I know that?" he said, incredulous. He took slow but sure steps towards Enjolras, "I'm not proud of it, but it's done. And I need you to cover for me one more time."

"What?"

"Don't report this" Montparnasse explained, indicating the burn on his skin. "Don't report anything about this conversation. The bureau will put me away if you do. But they don't need to know it was me. I wasn't even there at the time for all they know."

"You want me to lie?" 

 _Again?_ He had been about to say. Enjolras didn't know why, but the reproach didn't leave his mouth. He stared at Montparnasse, perplexed by the situation; and what he'd done; and what he was asking him to do. 

Montparnasse  closed the remaining distance and rested his forehead against Enjolras'. The feeling of him right there, soothing the latter. "I want you to help me" Montparnasse said, "I need you to help me." Enjolras felt his hands on his shoulders, grasping tightly, almost desperately. "I know I messed up, but believe me, it was the only way to put an end to this."

 

 

 

_Patron-Minette had fallen. Agent L. Montparnasse had gone rogue and put a definitive end to the case. He kept the truth from the Bureau and his team. He ran away after that._

When asked to write a report on the case, Enjolras confirmed Montparnasse's version and kept the injuries from the fire off the record. The case was closed, all information about it filed and destined to be forgotten among the thousands of other cases that ended tragically, instead of victorious. The abrupt end left a bitter taste on the team, but they moved on rather quickly. 

Enjolras could not. 

He tried to live with the lie, even managed for a while. But a thought took root on his mind. The questions didn't allow him to move on: if he was fighting for his life, why weren't any signs of a fight on his skin? If they had really discovered him, why had they told him what they planned on doing? What if they hadn't discovered his identity after all, but the crime he had commited when he killed one of their own? 

Enjolras couldn't move on from the case, couldn't forget what had happened. He didn't fully believe Montparnasse's story. There wasn't even the slightest bruise on his body, only that nasty burn that would make a permanent scar near his wrist. That was the only prove of Montparnasse's words, and it only served to prove that he had started the fire. That burn didn't provide any evidence of self-defense, it didn't show the danger of the situation, it didn't help build his story. In Enjolras' eyes, that burn only showed what he had done, but there was no trace of the why. 

Enjolras inevitably reached the conclusion that, maybe, it was because there was no reason why. 

There was a possibility that Montparnasse hadn't really been in danger. Maybe he hadn't been threatened, maybe they had never known about him. Maybe he had lied about it. Maybe he had killed them in cold blood because prison wasn't punishment enough. Maybe he wasn't the person Enjolras thought. Perhaps he had never been.

It felt like a betrayal, to make all these conjectures about him, to doubt him so deeply and hide it. But ever since Enjolras learned about what he'd done, ever since he saw him transform into a new shape, he couldn't recognise Montparnasse anymore. It was eating him inside to keep his secret. 

 

His suspicions and paranoia eventually outweighed the love he felt, and so Enjolras wrote a second report, in which he told the truth about the cover-ups, and the body in the river, and the presence of Montparnasse in the warehouse. If he wasn't guilty, he would be able to prove it. If he was, he should be judged. 

 

Enjolras only felt it fair to warn him. So he wrote the apology on his skin.

"I'm sorry. I told them."

"I thought you were on my side."

"I tried to be, but there are too many things that don't fit."

"I thought you loved me."

"I do. I'm sorry."

"I'll come back. Don't you dare to forget me."

He would run. He was guilty. 

Enjolras felt lost among the disappointment and guilt. But despite it all, that one time, he couldn't find the will to go and erase his words from his skin. He knew they would be the last in a long time.

 

 

The Bureau chased Montparnasse for weeks. He almost disappeared for good, almost avoided the trials and judgement and prison. But they found him, and he resisted. Enjolras knew they had killed him when the tattoos disappeared from his body. 

He sat in the kitchen floor and cried. The guilt was suffocating as he realised what he'd done. What he'd lost. The pain felt unbearable as he realised Montparnasse had lied to him one last time: he would never come back.

 

_A few weeks after the events at the warehouse, Agent L. Montparnasse was found dead in a hotel in Amsterdam. He had commited suicide._

 

That was it. Suicide. 

They couldn't really write the truth about what had happened, about how they had killed him based on suspicions, so they intended to bury it under the weight of one more lie. 

And they were making him validate that lie. 

The bureau was asking him to sign his name in that report and forget about the case. They were asking him to confirm that those pages contained the whole extent of what happened while they worked on Case M7-013, and Enjolras truly wished that report had been the whole truth. It would be so much easier, to move on from it that way. If there hadn't been secret meetings, if they hadn't shared a bond beyond that of their skin... if there hadn't been love, nor lies, nor betrayals. 

The report was just one more lie, one that set aside what they had been through, one that forgot them. And maybe it was for the best. Perhaps if the world never acknowledged what they had shared, if no one ever knew, it would become a lighter burden to carry; not because it wasn't heavy in his heart, but because no one would know, and so no one would ever remind him. 

To the world, they had never happened. And perhaps, that would make it easier to move on. 

 

Enjolras signed the report. He never talked about the case again.

 

 

 


End file.
